American Bred REDONE Episode 9: Dreams of Life
by American Companion
Summary: Genora O'Conner has a straightforward life. She has her school, her family, a single good friend, and that one person she can't stand. Yet strange dreams-memories of a life that isn't hers-prod at her. The person she hates is interested in this dream life, and soon believes in it even more than she does, pushing at her to accept the thing that would steal what she values most.
1. Chapter 1

_ I'm running._ _I'm always running._

Good. What else?

_ There's…a box. A blue box. It's very plain, blink and you'd miss it. But she—_

She?

_ The box. The box is a she. I don't know why; it just sounds right._

Alright then. Tell me about her.

_ She represents home and safety, but she also seems…seems like she carries pain and danger around with her. Or she's in it, I don't know. All the dreams start and stop with the box._

So all you see is a box?

_ No. Someone runs with me. Pin-stripes and sneakers, a blue light. I can't really see his face, or hear what he sounds like, but he's important._

Why?

_ He scares me. But we're close. We trust each other, yet I feel as though we hurt each other a lot._

Are you in love with your dream man?

_ No. We're not in love, and I don't think we ever were, but we're very close. I feel as though he's the only one I can touch in the dream. Everyone else gets hurts if I get too close._

Is there anything else?

_ He took me from something, something precious and priceless, but he also took me to something. Something…wonderful._

Can you describe him?

_ He is very old, very wise, naive, very smart, incredibly rude, very polite, callous, caring, deadly, safe, always learning, always teaching._

I don't understand.

_ Neither do I._

* * *

Genora sighed, staring at the pad of paper. _That certainly did me good,_ she thought blandly to herself. Usually the trick worked; when she wanted to sort something out, she'd create a conversation with herself on paper. This time it had turned out to be useless.

Sighing again, she slid the pad of paper into her backpack. She had homework to do, and as much as she liked Professor Hawkins' class, the problems the physics teacher assigned weren't easy, especially for an eighteen-year-old in college.

Although, now that she was working them…they'd seemed a great deal easier than she remembered. Unless she hadn't understood and was doing them all wrong. She doubted it though; she wasn't usually wrong. Still, just to be certain Genora decided to ask him tomorrow after class.

An hour and one pre-draft English paper later Genora switched off the light, silently hoping that Mr. Hawkins would be available so that she wouldn't have to go to his T.A. about it.

* * *

_Ping!_

Genora rolled her eyes, but answered the video chat request. Lula never listened.

"Good morning Ginny!" an overly but authentically cheerful voice sang out. Genora buttoned up her light pink shirt, giving the girl on the screen a mock glare.

"We've talked about you calling in the morning, Lula. I'm leaving for physics in five minutes."

"So you can talk to me for four of them!"

Genora shook her head, but smiled. The vibrant, grinning Latino was an odd friend for someone as reserved as Genora, but they got on superbly.

"Lula, it's midnight where you are at."

"And I just got back from a _fantastic_ club. Oh…my word. No. Take off that scarf _now_."

"It's an ascot, and no I won't. Isn't there only one bar where you're living?"

"That's not how you wear a scarf," Lula continued, ignoring Genora's comment. "Scarves are, like, a serious no most of the time anyway."

"They're classic."

"Another reason you should get rid of it."

"Lula, please, I don't want to have this discussion. I've got the most horrendous headache."

Lula threw her hands up, sinking back theatrically in her desk chair. "Fine. You know, it's probably because you keep your hair pinned down so tight."

"It gets in my face if I don't."

"You look way too old with the glasses and bun. You need a guy, girl. You've got the pale skin, the strawberry-blond hair, the blue eyes, but you aren't picking up anyone if you look like an ancient bookworm."

Genora smiled at her friend. "I'm only eighteen, Lula."

"So?"

Genora shook her head. "Therefore, I'm not a twenty-three year old exchange student in Taiwan, and it's likely I never will be. I'll need someone else who is an ancient bookworm _when I get there_."

Lula rolled her eyes, but acceded the argument. "Fine. Now hurry up; you're gonna be late for class."

"Speak with you later Lula."

"TTYL!"

Genora laughed silently to herself. They were indeed an odd friendship, but she would exchange it for nothing.

* * *

In her usual seat in the back, ten minutes early as always, Genora quietly set up her binder for notes and then produced the pad of paper from last night. She wished she had brought painkillers; her headache was worse than she'd first thought. Absently she started doodling, not paying a great deal of attention to the whole but rather to the details.

"Cramming problems, Miss O'Conner?"

Genora flicked a glance at Mr. Hawkins' T.A., not trying to hide her distaste. "No," she replied coldly, knowing if she said more she would say something she regretted.

The man drove her insane. True, he was marvelous to look at; all lanky and great hair and British accent and well dressed, but so incredibly…conceited! He was interning or something from someplace in the UK and he acted as though he were doing the entire university a favor by being there. Yes, he was intelligent—he wasn't so much a Teacher's Assistant as someone studying to be a teacher—but he didn't have to be a snot about it. There was also the fact that, for whatever twisted personal reason, Smith considered Genora beneath the other students. As if she hadn't proven herself time and again.

Genora pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside, concentrating on her picture.

* * *

John Smith took up his place at the back of the class. He followed the lessons as closely as any student should, even though he already knew all of what was being taught. However, when one of the students asked for help he needed to know where they were in their knowledge. Give one of these pupils too much information at once and they glazed over, doing no one any good.

O'Conner was, as always, two seats in front of him. Not by any grand design of either party, but simply because they had always sat in their respective seats since the beginning of the first term. Now that there was a mutual dislike, neither would give in to the other by moving.

Ever since the beginning of the school year, there had been a growing animosity between them. She was, in John's opinion, far too young to be taking part in junior classes. People her age didn't have the concentration or the drive to survive in the higher classes. However, since she had succeeded—and with high marks—thus far, John was certain she considered herself superior to the other—older, wiser—students in her classes. She dressed that way, walked that way, and had no friends on campus. O'Conner pretended not to see herself that way, but that was who she was. John was positive that the short red-haired young woman knew that he knew, and resented him because of it.

Silently, he watched the other students filter in, noticing all flaws as he did so; up too late last night, woke too late, struggling with grades, relationship issues… One of the first ones in sat near O'Conner, giving her a brief greeting.

John frowned slightly. Was that a pause before she answered her classmate? It wasn't long, barely noticeable, yet…she hesitated. There had been a blank look on her face for a fraction of a second, as if she hadn't remembered who they were.

Now curious, John watched the same thing occur with every other student walking in the door. O'Conner seemed to have noticed as well, because she was now watching the door avidly. The anomaly occurred with Mr. Hawkins as well.

The problem with knowing nearly everything, John thought despondently, was that when a new problem presented itself you couldn't ignore it. This was true even with a child such as O'Conner. Something seemed to be wrong with her. She took notes for less than five minutes before flipping several pages on a paper pad and continuing whatever she'd been drawing earlier. She was absorbed with it, yet never paused to see the full picture. From his vantage point, though, John could see the whole thing coming together. He didn't know what would make her draw one, but it was a rather accurate—if amateurish—recreation of a 1960's Police Call Box.

Something poked at the back of John's mind, something…but it was gone as he reached for it, dancing out of reach.

* * *

_I dream again._

About the blue box?

_Yes. No. I draw her, but she isn't the dream._

Tell me.

_A child's drawing, of a family. My family, I think, but my brother's name was wrong. And there were two pets, but we never had dogs with those names._

A wish from long ago?

_ No. The picture changes. The lines…the lines melt into each other, shuffling until they become hundreds of plants. Wonderful plants that speak to me and I to them, and I love them like…like I might love a family member. Now the plants melt into the box, and the box…the box turns into colors._

You dream in black and white?

_No. But the colors that come aren't right. There are only four; blue, green, yellow, purple, all bouncing around and meshing together but staying separate. A silver thread dances out of the corner of my eye. It's important, but I can't focus on it._

_ She makes the most amazing noise, you know. The Blue Box. The most beautiful noise you ever heard._

* * *

The bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture. O'Conner gave a start, as if she'd been pulled from somewhere, then began to pack her things. John waited for most of the others to leave before swallowing pride and approaching.

"Miss O'Conner."

She hesitated and tensed slightly, as if she was about to do something unpleasant. Then she turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't help but notice you were drawing during class," John said.

"I was, not that it was a thing for you to notice," O'Conner retorted. She was right, but not entirely; it was his job to notice things.

"Might I see it?"

This obviously surprised O'Conner, because she blinked and didn't answer right away. Her expression turned suspicious.

"Why?"

"I'm trying to understand why you would draw something I doubt you've ever seen."

"With the highest respect I can muster for you," she snipped back, "it's not something you would know about, nor is it a thing I need to tell you about. Ne me demandez pas de ma vie, et je ne vais pas demander le tien."

John looked at her over his glasses, resentful that she would hide behind language. "There is no need to turn rude, Miss O'Conner."

O'Conner's mouth twitched, almost as if she had counted something as a victory. "Then we are agreed." She turned sharply and left the classroom, head held high.


	2. Chapter 2

Genora opened her computer during lunch, debated for a moment, then decided it would be alright. Lula always had her computer open, and Genora was fairly certain she wouldn't have left for school yet.

Her gamble paid. A minute later, the grinning woman was looking out from Genora's computer screen.

"Hey-ho Ginny-o! What you doing calling now?"

"Oh, please not that loud Lula."

"Ai senorita!" Lula exclaimed, concerned. "You look like someone with a hangover. Still got that headache?"

"Yes. I've been eating aspirin all day, and I still feel as though I've been hit with a frying pan."

Lula looked at Genora for a long moment. "Have you eaten anything funny? Class been bad? Up too late?"

"Not exactly…" Genora sighed. "Lula, have you ever daydreamed? I mean, daydreamed so vividly it felt more like a memory?"

"Nope. I've daydreamed things I wish were memories, if you know what I mean." Lula wiggled her eyebrows and Genora shook her head in gentle reproof.

"I thought you people were supposed to be reserved about this sort of thing."

"Hey, large families come from somewhere," Lula retorted. "And I don't see you chasing people with broadswords and painting yourself blue, Miss Celtic."

"Touché."

"So…who ya dreaming about?"

Genora licked her lips. "Not anyone, per say. They started last night, and so far it only seems to happen when I'm working on one of my math or science classes."

"Oh, that will give anybody a headache."

Genora ignored the comment. "I see…I see this blue box. I drew a picture earlier." Genora held up the sketch. "I checked it out online. Apparently, these things were all over Britain starting in the late 1920's, and were still used until nearly 1990. They're a kind of miniature police station. This was one of the more popular designs."

"Does the history lesson have anything to do with your hallucinations?"

"No. I just thought it was interesting."

"Why would you be dreaming about them?"

"I think it's a ship of some kind," Genora explained. "I don't yet know where it goes or how it moves, but it does."

"Uh-huh."

"Lula, I mean it! I've been seeing it all day, and there are other things as well."

"Lampposts?"

"Lula…"

"Sorry," her friend apologized. "Tell me. All ears."

"Well…" Genora swallowed, unsure how to put the next part. "There's…there's a man too."

Lula's face lit up. "Oooo, a man! Finally found someone, yah? Keep going. What does he look like?"

"I never get a good look at him. I think he wears pinstripes and sneakers though. We run a lot."

Lula's mouth dropped open in shock and a sort of malicious glee. "Doesn't that T.A. of yours wear pinstripes?"

"No."

"Your head, not mine."

"Lula, no! Never! That skinny son of a Brit is the most conceited, rude, snobby,—"

"—tall, handsome, British, smart—"

"—distasteful, spiteful man I've ever come across!"

"Maybe he just needs the attentions of some young thing to thaw out his heart and show him the error of his ways."

"No Leola," Genora said sharply, using her friend's real name. "We are not discussing this. You have not met this…man, if he is one. Long ago we came to the mutual and silent agreement that we despise each other, for reasons I have explained many times, and that is the end of that."

"Fine," Lula sulkily agreed. "So…what do you and your Man in the Stripes do?"

"We…run."

"You run?"

"Yes. We're always running. From something, to something, I'm not sure. But we're always moving and dancing through amazing sights. I don't know what they are, but I can feel the wonderful."

"Are you sure this isn't another one of your plot-lines, Miss Future Author?"

"No. This is…different. Lula…"

"Ginny…"

"Have you ever…felt as though someone else was in your head?"

"Do you mean that part of your brain that's always working on something? Or do you mean the way you can detach yourself from something?"

"No, I mean…" Genora sighed. "It was during physics. I tried to listen, I really did, but someone…someone stepped into my head and listened for me."

"Someone stepped into your head."

"I know, it makes no sense, but it's true. Or…or rather someone already in my head stepped forward and listened for me. When class was over I had understood everything told, but I hadn't really listened to any of it. And the whole time, I was drawing that box, and writing down things about it and the Man in the Stripes…and she…she has a name. Kathryn, I think. But she…she stepped forward and…"

"Genora…are you certain that you're alright?"

"Lula…am I going mad?"

Lula pressed her lips together, thinking. "I think your already bright imagination is playing tricks with your mind," she finally said. "It's the last month and a half of school, so you're tired and stressed out. I think you need to find some kind of way to relax and take your mind off of things. Go jogging in the mornings, or find a non-class related club. Something to get your mind off of school and that pain-in-the-backside T.A. Might help with the headache too."

Genora sighed again. "I'll try."

"Don't try, do," Lula stressed. "Your health comes first, always. If you make me fly back to take care of you, I will be most displeased."

Genora smiled faintly. "I'll do my best. Chat with you later Lula."

"TTYL Ginny!"

* * *

Genora wandered to the nearby school gym after her English 300 class. She'd had this odd wish to exercise, though this wasn't her usual day for it. Still, she was flexible; an extra session wouldn't hurt.

Idly she wrapped her hands for the punching bag; not that she ever used it, but this wasn't her usual time or her usual crowd. She could afford to look like a novice this one day.

After warming up her shoulders, she started in on one of the helpless bags, letting her encounter with Smith come out through her hands. What right had he to snoop? What right had he to take such offense at her existence? She was a good student and had a full ride scholarship to prove it.

_Whack._

She was well-mannered.

_Whack smack._

She paid attention in class.

_ Kick whack._

She turned in work on time.

_Whack thump._

Every lab score was perfect, every paper in every other class marvelous.

_Crack smack._

She spoke four languages fluently.

_Whack thud._

What was his problem? He had no reason to dislike her so. He had no reason to search for faults. He had no reason not to count her as an adult.

_Whack crunch._

Someone cleared their throat behind her and she jumped, turning around. The man looked at her, faintly annoyed.

"If you're going to use the bag, then use it. Don't just stand there staring at it."

Genora opened her mouth to protest, then a wave of pain hit her head. "What…what time is it?"

The man frowned. "Seven. Are you alright? You aren't looking too good."

"But I got here at six…" Genora said quietly, not addressing the man. She glanced up at him. "Sorry. Yes, I'm finished."

Mindlessly she walked passed him, heading towards the locker rooms.

"Miss O'Conner?"

Genora looked blankly at Smith. "Yes?"

"Are you feeling well?"

"How long have I been standing there?" she asked him, too dazed to start a word war.

"At least half an hour."

"Thirty minutes…" Genora mused. Suddenly she looked Smith in the eye. "Have you ever seen a capitol T made out of hexagons?"

"What?"

"When is a burning forest not on fire?"

"I'm not one for riddles."

"What about the name Josephine Cole?"

"Are you quite…sane, Miss O'Conner?"

Genora shook her head. "I wish I knew, Mr. Smith. I really wish I knew."

* * *

"And you just let him get away with that?"

"Lula, I've asked myself the same question," Genora reminded her friend late that night. "I told you about what happens in physics, yes?"

"A girl named Catherine takes over your mind and listens. I think you've just learned to split your focus so you can listen and sleep at the same time."

"It's not like that Lula."

Lula shook her head on the screen. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying to make sense as well. I worry about you as it is, Genora."

Genora smiled. "I know."

"So have you figured it out?"

"No, but I think there's another person in my head."

"On top of the other one?"

"Either that or the one person has seen an awful lot for one person and has two names."

"So you're a physics whiz during physics, someone who sees not-flaming forest fires when you're beating up sandbags, and you the rest of the time?"

"Yes."

Lula was silent. "Do you have any friends taking psychology?"

"No, and it would only be a minor; we don't have a lot of psychology classes."

"What about Mom?" Lula and Genora had spent so much time together that they addressed each other's parents as if they were their own.

"I haven't told my parents yet."

"What! Genora, are you really losing it? You march down stairs right now and tell them what's been happening."

"I can't Lula! They had reservations about me going to university at my age in the first place. I can't tell them I'm cracking this close to finals; they'd never let me go back."

"They would too!"

"No they wouldn't! At least not for several years, and by then I'll lose my scholarship and have to take classes over again. I can't do that Lula."

Genora's friend sighed. "Alright. I'll let it alone for now. But if this keeps up, promise me you'll talk to them, or get help, or something."

"I promise."

"Genora! Dinner!"

Genora looked back at her screen. "I've got to sign out now, and then I have homework."

Lula sighed again. "Look…I'll ask some people here if they have any ideas, okay? And I'll think on it too. You just relax or something. Do your homework, bare minimum tonight. Take a long soak, then go running tomorrow. That always helps me. Oh, and I'm going to send you some local headache cure-all I came across here. I have no idea what they put in it, but the vendor and all my classmates swear it works."

Genora grinned. "I'll take your word on it."

"And whatever you do tonight, don't write about those dreams! Or anything! Read a book instead, but no writing!"

"Promise. Speak with you soon."

"TTYL!"

* * *

Two days later, it was physics in the morning again. Barely a minute had passed before they started. Genora pushed her notebook aside and the other girl stepped in to listen for her while the image took over.

_I'm having another…vision, I guess you could call it. An immense orchard. Trees that aren't trees. Snow that isn't cold. A song with…strange words. Horrible, terrible, painful, killing music._

_ The trees are dying. They're screaming._

_ They're being killed used mutilated tortured!_

* * *

John's focus was now entirely on O'Conner instead of the lecture.

He didn't want it to be. Most of him was certain she had planned this whole thing just to upset and distract him. Breaking her patterns, pretending to go mad…just because of some twisted wish to attack him.

Yet…some small part at the back of his mind was tickling at him, pushing him to find out what was driving this sudden change in the child. It reminded him of something…and then it would pass as soon as he reached for it. John needed that notebook, and for that he…he _needed_ O'Conner.

She was once again writing on that pad of paper rather than in her notebook. She had turned in a perfect homework paper at the end of the last lecture, as always, so it wasn't affecting her learning.

But it might be affecting O'Conner's mind. She was writing feverishly, her hand shaking with some sort of strong emotion. And now…now she was muttering to herself. People started to look at her but she—

"You're killing them!" she suddenly shrieked, jumping from her seat. Now everyone was certainly looking at her.

O'Conner stood, trembling. She pressed a hand to her upper lip and withdrew it. John could see blood on her hand and bright red drops of it on whatever she'd been writing.

"Genora?" Prof. Hawkins asked from the front of the room. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes…I…Sorry." O'Conner grabbed her backpack and the pad of paper and quickly left the classroom.

Prof. Hawkins caught John's eye and nodded at the door. John took the hint—and the opportunity—and went after her.

She was already down the hall and rounding the corner. Putting his long legs to good use, John pursued her in time to see her throw the pad of paper in a trash can. He hesitated, then made note of the bin and continued after her.

"Miss O'Conner!"

Stubbornly she ignored him and dashed outside just as he caught her arm.

"Let me go!"

"Prof. Hawkins sent me after you."

"I don't care!" she snapped. For a moment she looked him full in the face and he loosened his grip, shocked at the terror on her face.

Taking advantage of the moment, she jerked away and continued her run, sliding into a car and driving off.

John didn't waste time staring after her. Swiftly he returned to the trash can she'd thrown the pad of paper into and fished it out.

The halls were quiet as he sat down to read.


	3. Chapter 3

"Genora! I thought you were in class. Genora honey, what's wrong?"

Genora sunk onto the couch. "Mom…Mom I'm scared."

Genora's mother knelt in front of her, pushing Genora's hair back. "Genora, what happened? Your nose is bleeding. Has someone been bothering you? Did you get into a fight?"

"Yes! No! I don't know. Mom, I feel like someone else is using my brain! Like someone keeps stepping in and using it, putting their memories and thoughts and feelings in my head, and it's scaring me!

"And I see things Mom! People running and symbols and plants and a blue box and—"

"Genora!"

Genora stopped, breathing hard. She swallowed a sob, clinging to her mother's arms. "And I hear things. Songs and noises and words…Mom I don't know what's going on."

"Shh. Shh. Just breathe now, calm down. That's it; long steady breaths."

It took several minutes for Genora's breathing to even back out as her mother rubbed her back.

"Now. Start from the beginning, and go slowly."

* * *

John set down the pad of paper. He'd read it through three separate times, scrutinizing all of it. He'd returned to his flat and had jotted down notes on it, copied out sections of it…

Yet he was no closer to understanding that crazy, niggling thing at the back of his mind.

This blue box went through time and space, and had a larger inside than outside. Both of those things were impossible. The other things O'Conner had written about made as much sense as the box, particularly that man she had described. A typically impossible man, knight on the white horse type who had suffered through horrible things and still stood. Still, it was very much a man someone would want to exist; a savior type who rescued everyone and asked nothing in return.

It sounded like a story waiting to be written, read like the outline of a science fiction book. It might even become something one day, if she stuck with it.

But she was far too involved in this; the drops of blood on the last page spoke of her belief in—

Belief? Did she really think this had happened? Memories perhaps? But these were impossible memories. No; O'Conner was simply a young author who invested herself too deeply in her works. While it made for good writing, it apparently did not make for a balanced mind.

Taking out a pen, John wrote a small note to O'Conner. He could have someone else deliver it to her, or could easily leave it on her desk before the next class, after the weekend.

* * *

Genora had spent the weekend doing everything to ignore the odd dreams. Her mother had suggested submerging herself in real life, and Lula had agreed. So, Saturday and Sunday had been nothing but bike riding, book reading, chores, and talking to Lula. Anything save schoolwork and writing.

Now, on Monday morning on her way to physics, Genora felt very much better about it all. The dreams and the headaches had faded, and things had returned to the way they really ought to be. She would resume her patterns, finish this year with high grades, and look forward to a fairly relaxing summer.

Genora froze when she saw the paper pad sitting on her desk. The only other person in the room was Smith. Carefully she sat down, staring at the paper for several long moments.

A small scrap of paper stuck out from the side, bookmarking a page. Cautiously Genora opened the pad, turning to read the bold, dark hand.

**Miss O'Conner—**

** I found this in the trash. I took the liberty of reading through it. You have a vivid imagination and I encourage you to let this story continue to flow. If you don't let it finish, it will continue to haunt you (and to disturb lectures).**

** For what it is worth, I don't think you are going mad. Find other outlets to go with your story-telling, and allow yourself only a specific time to write, preferably outside of class.**

** Should you need someone to speak with on the subject, I spend most of my off hours—which is to say, nearly all my hours—in the library.**

** —J. Smith**

** Post Script: I will say that your sketches of police boxes, though crude (I would suggest an art class) are rather accurate.**

Genora stared at the page. Her first reaction was one of anger. Found it in the trash! A likely tale; he'd seen her throw it away and had gone snooping.

The anger was followed, strangely, by relief. Someone—even if it was only Smith—thought that she wasn't crazy. Despite her resentment of his attitude, she knew him to be a very precise and logical individual; as much as she wanted not to, she had to admit she trusted his analysis.

The relief moved to mortification. Genora had taken two full pages to describe and draw the man she ran with; unfortunately, he did look a great deal like Smith.

Hurriedly she put the paper back in her backpack and pulled out her notebook, resolving to pay attention today.

* * *

It was one o'clock when John spotted her again.

She was sitting at a small table on campus, a paper coffee cup by her elbow. In front of her there was an open textbook, a spiral notebook, and that pad of paper.

He wasn't surprised which one she was writing in.

"Afternoon Miss O'Conner."

O'Conner flicked a glance at him as he sat down and calmly flipped the pages back over whatever she'd just written. In the same final manner she recapped her pen and folded her hands together.

"Mr. Smith."

"Continuing your story?"

"Not that it's really your concern, but yes I was."

John flashed a broad grin at her. "Found a name for your hero yet?"

O'Conner flushed, slightly embarrassed by something. "No I haven't, and it's likely I won't. He's more interesting if he hasn't got a name."

"Oh, come now," John teased. "Someone so brilliant really should have a name."

"If you remember from your snooping," O'Conner returned, stressing the verb, "I said he was rude and callous."

"Ah, but he was also caring and polite. And I think you had a note on one page where you said even though you hadn't had a good look at him you really wouldn't mind…how'd you put it…finding a quiet moment."

Now she really was red. "I said a sentence later I had no romantic feelings towards him, and that he had stolen something incredibly precious from me, and though the next part never got to paper I can easily tell you that whatever it was it's not worth what he gave me in return!"

Slamming her book shut, O'Conner gathered her things and stalked off.

"Forgot your coffee."

She called back over her shoulder in what sounded like Gaelic. John didn't understand the word, but the tone was very clear.

* * *

"You actually said that to him?"

Genora nodded in response to Lula's question. "I can't believe it, but yes."

"Wow. Wish I'd been there."

"I'm glad you weren't; you probably would have hit him."

"He went through your stuff! He deserves to get hit." Lula pursed her lips. "You know, I think he's got a crush on you."

"What?"

"Think about it! He's read something personal, has been trying to talk to you since last week, he's always sat behind you, he told you where to meet him…"

"Lula, we hate each other."

"Or are you both fighting the pull."

"Lula, I swear, for a twenty-three year old you can be so young."

"Give me a break, Ginny girl! I've never had a chance to actually see you with someone. And I have seen this guy once before, and he is _gorgeous_."

Genora nodded slightly in agreement. "Smile's not that bad either." Her eyes widened and she pointed a finger at her laughing friend. "But that doesn't mean I like him! He's in his mid-thirties or something!"

"Age doesn't matter that much."

"I'm closing the window Lula."

"And he's smart."

"Okay, that's it; I'm turning off the computer."

Lula grinned cheekily. "Let me know how it works out. TTYL!"

Genora snorted and turned her attention to her homework.

* * *

Genora woke early the next morning. She'd been seeing the Man in the Stripes again. From the back. She'd been walking towards him and…and for some reason the way he was standing had made her afraid to look past him, as if she'd committed a terrible crime and now he was forcing her to face it.

Something had hit her hard and she'd woken up.

Not knowing what else to do, Genora got into a pair of exercise pants and a tight tank top. Hastily putting her hair up she trotted out the door after leaving a note for her parents, she left for the jogging trails.

It was still very early and chilly when she started on the 5-K run. Three miles should be plenty.

Though running was never her first choice, she fell into the rhythm rather easily. If anything, she felt slow. Increasing her pace, Genora was soon running along the trail, passing anyone she came to.

Then one person started keeping pace with her. She increased her speed and the other person matched it. Soon they were both sprinting full out, the trees whizzing past as they leapt over roots and rocks.

Suddenly the world was turned on its head. A dozen landscapes, from frozen tundra to steaming jungle to barren desert, all appeared in front of Genora's eyes. She could hear footsteps and motors behind her, joined with scores of languages that sounded nothing like she'd ever heard in her life. The Man in the Stripes was next to her, and they ran together, each of them surging with adrenaline and life.

The shock made her trip and she fell forward, almost face planting down a hill, but her fellow runner grabbed her hand in time to pull her back up.

Gasping, Genora leaned against a nearby tree, feeling as if her heart was going to burst and her lungs were about to collapse. She'd been going fast enough for three hearts, and even that wouldn't have been enough.

"Are you alright?"

Genora glanced up. "Oh thank goodness it's just you."

"What happened O'Conner?"

"I don't…I don't know. I was fine and then…then I saw…and I heard…"

Smith looked her up and down, making a decision. "Come on. We both need to sit, and I think we should talk."


	4. Chapter 4

Genora leaned against the base of a large rock. She and Smith had finished the trail at a walk and had stopped in the park that made up the beginning and ending of so many of the hiking and jogging trails. Genora had retrieved her paper pad from her car(she admitted to keeping the paper in there last night)and she had told him the entire story.

"You're certain about this…other person."

"Yes," Genora answered firmly, knowing it made her sound like a lunatic. "It's an entirely new collection of…of something. But it isn't me."

"Are you positive? I've heard of authors hearing their characters as if they were real."

Genora opened her mouth to go off on the topic of creating characters and then changed her mind, switching to something else. "It's…stronger than that though."

"Maybe the story is something you really want to tell."

"You think this is just…my imagination?"

"Yes. I think you've been creating a story, but won't let yourself express it because of your pursuit in a scientific career; commendable, but if you would rather be somewhere else, not advisable."

"I've…written before," Genora said slowly. "It's what I want to do, you know; write books. I'm just in physics, calculus, and chemistry so that I can write knowledgeably about them. Same thing with the languages I already know." She paused. "You really think this could be a good book?"

"It's enjoyable, if improbable. Still, the uneducated masses would find it plausible."

Genora took offense at this. "What do you mean, improbable?"

"Well, take that man of yours for a start," Smith said bluntly. "Someone that strong, that brave, that perfect, is a rather annoying hero, and not someone who can exist."

"But he isn't perfect!" Genora blurted out before she could stop herself. "He's always trying not to lose control of what he's holding onto, and he's done…done something horrible. I'm not sure what it is, but he's not perfect. He's far too proud, and sometimes stupid, and usually a bit condescending…" Genora's voice trailed off as she saw Smith's expression. He chuckled at her red face.

"Pushed a button on that one. Alright, I'll give you your flawed hero. But the way you said he finds his friends is rather far-fetched."

"What do you mean?"

"If I remember correctly—and I always remember what I read," Smith said authoritatively, "then your hero simply drops in, shows off a bit and saves whatever is in peril, and then sings the girls that carpet song from Aladdin about a whole new world and they follow behind him just like that, leaving everything behind."

Genora gave him a withering look. "If a dashing, mostly polite man saved my life and then offered me all of time and space…okay, I like my family and I'm low-key so I'd probably say no," she admitted. "But that's part of his mystery and the excitement! You don't know where he's off to, but you know it's somewhere wonderful. And the allure of doing something different and not following the same pattern is appealing. I've got a friend who would go in a heartbeat if the offer came her way."

Smith sighed. "I suppose a knight on a white horse captures a young female's imagination. But your box is not something you can avoid."

"What do you have against her?"

"Her different sizes," Smith told her as though it were painfully obvious. "Conservation of Mass and Volume, Genora; you can't place something larger inside something smaller than itself."

"But the inside isn't really her inside," Genora explained. "The box part—the bit that you see—is more like a doorway than anything else. It's the part that exists in our dimension, in our world. The rest of it, the inside world, is another place entirely. The inside isn't really inside."

"You've really thought all this out."

"I didn't though," Genora protested. She flipped several pages of her paper, turning it to show Smith. "It's been…told to me. Through those waking dreams. See this? It's her inside; I don't have colors so it's still just in pen, but I didn't imagine this. I _saw_ it."

"Rather confusing place."

"Is not," Genora protested. "It's all gold coral and turquoise lights, and she's beautiful. She makes a noise when she travels, and she's always channeling the most amazing song, and she's just beautiful John."

John got a glazed look for a moment, as if almost remembering something. The look passed, and John's eyes sharpened again.

"You keep saying 'she'. I thought it was a machine."

"There's…something inside her. She's alive, I think."

"Your Kathryn character didn't say?"

"You really think Kathryn's just a character?"

"I do," John said firmly. "In my opinion—"

"Which being yours is obviously the correct one."

John's mouth twitched slightly in a smile. "Precisely. I believe that you have been absorbing bits and pieces of reality throughout your life, mostly about scientific theory. However, you want to write, particularly fiction. So, your maths and science classes wake up that desire while you're in them, triggering your visions."

"What about the running? And the sand bag?"

"Your heroine is physically and mentally strong." John waved the protest away with his words. "Simply more story."

Genora sat quietly, adsorbing the information.

"She really ought to have a name, you know."

Genora blinked at John. "What?"

"Your box. If she's that amazing, she needs a name."

Genora stared through John for a moment. "Tardis."

"Tardis? What sort of a name is that?"

"I don't know," Genora admitted. "Kathryn mentioned it once, I think. I'm pretty sure. It is a funny name though."

John frowned thoughtfully. "What if it were all capitols?" He took Genora's pad of paper from her. "An acronym for something."

"TARDIS?"

"Yes," John said distractedly, writing out the letters vertically. "Let me see…you said that she travels in time and space, so that takes care of the 'T' and the 'S'. You explained away the size problem with dimensions, so there goes our 'D'. Time 'A' 'R' Dimensions 'I' Space." John shrugged. "It's a start."

"In Space," Genora supplied, leaning to look as well. "It would fit."

John wrote it in, frowning at the paper. "'A' and 'R' left now."

"A for And?"

"I suppose that would…ah hah!" John quickly filled in the spaces by the 'A' and the 'R', then nodded firmly. "Time And Relative Dimensions In Space."

"Where does the Relative come in?"

"Two dimensions, each related but not exactly like the next."

Genora grinned at him. "That makes sense. TARDIS. Good name for her."

Genora suddenly gave a start and looked at her watch. "I've got a class in an hour. I should have been home before this." She took the paper back from John and stood, starting to leave. She paused and half turned, remembering something.

"I still think you're an egotistical prig, Mr. Smith."

"And I, Miss O'Conner, still see you as a rather self-adsorbed child."

Genora couldn't quite keep her smile away. "And you also know that if you tell anyone I was polite, much less friendly to you, I will first destroy them and then kill you, just before dying of embarrassment."

"Considering I was thinking the same thing, it is safe for you to assume I will say nothing of our encounter."

Genora flashed John a grin, one he returned before she trotted off to her car.

* * *

John wasn't entirely certain what he was doing when he ordered coffee along with his usual green tea. He still wasn't positive when he purposefully walked over to the small table and sat down across from the studying Genora, setting the coffee by her elbow.

She flicked a glance up him, only slightly surprised and not really displeased to see him. She held up a hand as she finished coping something out of an absurdly thick book, then set down her pen to look at the coffee cup.

"What's that?" she asked, taking off her headphones.

"Coffee," John said, feeling slightly foolish.

"I can see that, John," Genora said teasingly. "I'm asking what it's doing there."

"Pardon?"

"Why did you bring me coffee?" Genora asked bluntly as she opened the lid and smelled it. "And how do you know how I take my coffee, harceleur?" The word was obviously something vaguely derogatory in French, but her tone didn't make it so.

"As to the second, you left most of one behind when you stormed off the last time," John reminded her. She laughed gently but didn't blush. "Concerning the first, I thought I could bribe you to talking more about your story."

Genora sobered. "Why are you still bothered about that?"

John shrugged. He couldn't tell her that they did bother him, weighed on his mind as if prodding him to wake up to…something. "Curiosity."

Genora narrowed her gaze, though not threateningly. "I've never known you to be curious about anything."

"Rather early in the relationship to say something like that, wouldn't you say Genora?" John teased. "We haven't exactly spoken before this."

"And yet here we are, sitting in the open drinking our respective beverages, talking about something I've barely even discussed with my mother, let alone a man I could hardly stand the sight of two days ago."

John folded his hands, buying time while he thought of a good reason. He couldn't say what he was actually thinking—that the strange young woman was no longer so annoying, or so young, as she had once seemed. She actually had some kind of a mind and a sense of humor.

"Defying common speculation, Miss O'Conner, I do enjoy puzzles, and at this moment whether I like it or not, you have become a puzzle. As much as I consider you in over your head as a junior in college at the very young age of eighteen, you have somehow managed to survive. You have done this by—as far as I ever cared to pay attention and which has always been minimal—keeping to a very strict daily regimen. Yet at the end of the year, you snap and start experiencing hallucinations that occur only at certain times."

"And thus you decided to study me and in order to do that, you must be close enough to ask questions," Genora finished for him. Her gaze bored into him and he noticed that her writing hand started twitching as though she were holding a pen. "I will have you know that I am not a lab specimen, Mr. Smith." The cold formality had returned to her tone. "I do not appreciate being approached as one, nor do I approve of someone using a guise of friendship for their own gain." Firmly she set the coffee cup back by his elbow. Putting her headphones back on, she resumed her writing, dismissing him with body language.

Oddly hurt, strangely shamed, and somehow more determined to find another opportunity, John left the coffee behind as he strode away, not noticing Genora sigh gently as he did so.


	5. Chapter 5

"And you just…let him walk off."

"Lula, I felt another attack coming on."

Lula sighed dramatically. "Ginny, that's the thing that's keeping him interested in you. You should have just gone ahead with it."

"I don't know Lula…" Genora sighed. "I'm already on edge about this, and…and Kathryn had a really strong aversion to it. I'm surprised I was able to be that polite about it."

Lula looked concerned. "I'm really starting to get worried about this dream stuff. Do you still get headaches?"

"Yes. That stuff was you sent over helps, though I'm starting to run out."

"Already?" Lula clicked her tongue. "Drink more water, get more sleep."

"Finals Lula." Genora sighed. "When do you come home again?"

"In a few weeks. It's sad really. I mean, I want to see you all but…" Lula sighed. "I've had such fun, made some awesome friends over here. It's so different, you know? Like another planet sometimes."

Genora gave Lula a look through the web-cam. "Don't you get started on dreams now. But I understand, sort of."

"You really should get into the exchange program Genora," Lula said. "Having a real adventure would get your mind off this dream one. Although…" Lula tilted her head sideways, thinking.

"What is it?"

"I was just wondering…if you let the dreams run, and accepted John's questions as a sort of wall to bounce ideas off, maybe you'll let whatever this is get out."

"Indulge the hallucination."

"The fantasy," Lula hastened to explain. "Get it out and be done with it. If anything bothers you, don't answer and I'll hit him when I get home in a few weeks."

Genora smiled. "I'll keep it in mind." She glanced at the clock on her wall. "I've got a paper to finish. Speak with you later Lula."

"TTYL Ginny!"

* * *

John sat down across from Genora, once again setting the coffee down next to her. She looked at it for a moment before putting her current task on hold and dropping her headphones around her neck. Her calm gaze made it obvious she was waiting for some sort of an apology, or an explanation. John wasn't sure he had either.

"If I somehow conveyed I was searching for a friendship in my questions, I'm afraid I led you astray, though how I can't be certain. The only thing I've ever asked you about was your story."

"I know."

The reply was flat, but not coldly so. John frowned. "Then I don't understand."

"I'm…whenever I'm writing, about anything or anyone, my emotions tend to reflect whatever I'm currently writing about. And right now…it's a touchy subject."

"Your character has something against questions?"

"Kathryn's been hinting at things, but she hasn't told me anything specific yet. But…but she hates being viewed as a study, and that came out in my reply."

"You are a very…different person Genora."

Genora smiled slightly. "I know."

Breaking the tension, she pulled out her pad of dreams. "I think Kathryn finally told me the name of the Man in the Stripes, but I'm not sure. It sounds more like a title or position."

"What is it?"

"The Doctor."

John inhaled slowly. The niggling in his mind pushed hard for a moment then backed off.

Genora frowned. "Are you alright John?"

John paused. "When did we switch to first names?"

Genora thought for a moment. "The day we went jogging, I think."

"Hmm." John looked up and smiled. "So. Where does your Doctor come from?"

"I don't know yet. It needs a good name, something…probable."

"Gallifrey," John said after a moment's thought. Genora grinned.

"That's good. And his race…could be the Zeitgeist."

"A modernist movement?"

"Time spirit," Genora laughed, giving the literal translation of the German word. "I think it's appropriate for a time traveler." She scribbled it down, then flipped several pages. "I've got to show you the greenhouse Kathryn has. You won't believe what she keeps in there."

* * *

Two weeks passed. Genora went to classes and worked on papers, John continued to work on theories and theses papers, and every weekday at one o'clock in the afternoon they had coffee and tea together and talked about stories on campus. Sometimes they went elsewhere and had lunch, but only once or twice, and they always went Dutch. It was comfortable, convenient, and not awkward or romantic in the least.

Of course Lula would blow it all out of proportion.

"Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!"

"Lula."

"You've got a blinking boyfriend! I knew it was going to happen, I knew it!"

"Lula!"

"How old is he? Height?" She gasped. "Have you kissed him yet?"

"Leola Maldonado!"

Lula sighed huffily and crossed her arms. "You are no fun Ginny."

"Because we aren't a couple."

"Considering the distance your feelings for this guy have traveled in two weeks, any normal pair of people would be married and in bed together by now."

"Lula!"

Lula grinned at her friend's red, horrified face. "I can never resist doing that to you. But seriously; you've got a friend. Of the opposite gender. Who you used to despise. And now you're friends, and he buys you coffee. If you aren't a couple, you're teetering on the edge."

Genora sighed. "It is weird, I know. But it's like…like I've found a friendship I've always had, but haven't discovered until now."

"Wow. You are so into this guy."

"Lula, please stop."

Lula bit her lip. "Alright. I'll quit." She frowned. "Genora…this is bothering you, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Is it him? Because I'll be home in ten days; we can totally trash his house."

"No it's…it's the dreams."

"Still?"

"Still."

"Headaches?"

"Yes. Not while I'm thinking about it so much, but always after I meet with John and we talk. He knows almost as much about all this as I do, and thinks up just about everything pertaining to the Doctor, and we discuss the outside details endlessly. The only thing he has nothing on is what goes on in Kathryn's mind. Sometimes I think he wants the story more than I do."

Lula raised her eyebrows. "Maybe he wants to be your Doctor; hero in the suit."

"Maybe. I sort of doubt it. John doesn't have a very high opinion of the Doctor; not that he's said, anyway. Maybe it's just the whole male-mind thing." Genora sighed. "I really don't know Lula."

"When is your school out?"

"Week after next, thank goodness."

"Have the dreams been…disturbing lately?"

"Not as much as they used to be. I still get my…visions. But Kathryn hasn't personally stepped in very much since I started talking to John about it all. Neither has her other name, Josephine Cole. I'm pretty sure they're the same person."

Lula stared hard at her friend, hearing the exhaustion in Genora's voice. "Genora, you look like hell. How much sleep are you getting?"

"Not enough. Between schoolwork and those stupid visions and stories and the brain-eating headaches, espresso and aspirin are the only things keeping me alive. I feel like I'm going to go mad sometimes, if I haven't already. I'd drop the visions and stories but…but…"

"But it's your story, and you never could let one go." Lula sighed and Genora nodded.

"Thank the powers that be that next Monday is a holiday, and Deadweek."

"No caffeine Deadweek. You have no classes to go to, so you have no reason to force yourself to stay awake. Now go to bed. Oh, and for once I've actually got to focus on homework over here, so my calls will be patchy."

"'K. Later Lula."

"Now I know it's bad. Goodnight Genora."

* * *

Genora fell out of bed, clawing her way out of her bed sheets, beating at something unseen. After an endless minute of wild struggle she fought her way to her feet, gasping for breath. Wanting nothing more than an open space, she weaved her way downstairs and outside. Ignoring her car, the fact she was barefoot and still wearing pajamas, and that she had no cell phone, Genora started lurching forward, swaying dangerously as the terror tried to claw her mind apart.

Genora had no idea how long or how far she'd wandered when she finally sat down hard, shuddering and breathing. Suddenly she craved company, a person outside of her head. She stared up at the building across the street and walked resolutely towards it, unsteady but determined. Pressing hard on a button at the gate, she didn't let up until a sleepy and irate voice answered.

"What?"

"John." Genora's voice cracked in relief. "John please. I need to talk to someone."


	6. Chapter 6

John opened the door to his apartment and Genora nearly collapsed into his arms. He was so stunned he barely registered her bloody nose and state of dress before she looked wildly into his face.

"Pen and paper. I need pen and paper."

"Genora, what is going on? What are you doing here?"

"Dreams. Pen and paper."

Carefully John led her inside, Genora clinging to his biceps as he tried to sit her down at the small table full of clutter. Disregarding the semi-organized state of the equations and books, Genora simply found a blank-page notebook and a pen. She drew frantically, still clinging to John's arm with her free hand as if she were trying to draw strength from him. Her grip was uncomfortably tight and he tried to peel her fingers off, only getting her to hold onto his shirt instead by pleading loss of circulation.

She was hunched over the paper, preventing John from seeing it. Whatever this recent attack was, it was enough that the blood started dripping from her nose again. Genora ignored the soft drops of red, crafting the scene around them. Now and again she scribbled down a phrase, but for the most part it was an image.

Abruptly Genora stopped. She dropped the pen on the table, let go of John's shirt, and put her head on the table to promptly fall asleep.

John stared at her, then looked at his wall clock. Two thirty in the morning. She'd woken him up half an hour ago.

Looking back at her still form, John sighed. He really felt like he should take her home, or at least get the blood off her face. It was all over that notebook; he wouldn't be able to use several pages because of the DNA soaking through. Carefully, he pulled the notebook out from under Genora's head, sitting in a nearby chair to study it.

The quality of the picture took him off guard. Most of Genora's sketches were imperfect and vague; this one was sale-worthy and detailed. There was no real background, as if that hadn't mattered. Two copies of the same man faced each other, like a reflection viewed sideways. Both wore pin-stripes, trench coats; both stood on sand. But they were…different.

They were drawn as if seen by someone lying on the sand, looking up. The man on the left was like a twisted version of the other. There was something vile about him, though whether it was his face or the way he stood or held his head, John couldn't tell. The man on the right looked stronger, but more breakable somehow. It was a man you didn't want to push too far, but was brittle from choices he'd made.

The whole image sent a flare of anger rushing through John, but it was an old anger that tasted slightly of victory, as if he'd been part of whatever battle it was and defeated the vile man.

Words were scrawled all over the invisible margins, half sentences: _Fight for the mind; Thought; TORCHWOOD battles; the Rift; My life for his; Anything to keep my Doctor running; Family friendships sacrifice; Pain takes over emotion; My mind is not my own_. There were more threatening, defiant statements mixed in among the surrender: _You will never know; Let him alone; Defend my Life; I will overcome design_ and then in all capital letters **YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM**.

John sat leaned back, studying the image, trying to understand. It made very little sense, but one thing was clear. It was hard to grasp, but very much there; how absolutely, completely devoted to her Doctor Kathryn was. She would do anything for him, and that made her dangerous.

John got a rag and a bowl of water, setting it in front of Genora before gently waking her. She lifted her head groggily to look at him owlishly.

"Hi."

"Do you remember what happened?" John asked her. Genora nodded.

"Yes. Very much so." She touched her upper lip and John handed her the water and cloth. "Where's the picture?" Genora asked.

"On the chair. I was looking at it."

"Keep it. I never want to see it again."

"What?"

Genora set down the reddened water, face pale. "I felt someone in my mind."

"Kathryn?"

"No. This…she's disconcerting, but I'm used to her. She never…this wasn't her."

Genora fell silent. Irritated and tired, John grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him.

"Genora. What. Happened."

"Something…the thing on the left side of the image…I could feel it sorting through my mind. Moving through it, pushing and prodding and shuffling stuff around and twining itself around memories. It wasn't just showing me things the way Kathryn does; it was trying to consume them."

Her eyes were open wide, and she was clinging to his shirt again. Genora was really, truly scared.

"And I could hear it talking, taunting. Allusions to memories I haven't lived, threatening friends I haven't met. I felt him, hand on my throat, fire everywhere, telling me to give up my mind or send my friends through the same thing."

John studied her face carefully, checking her temperature with his hand. "Start at the beginning Genora," he finally said, voice calm. "Tell me the story."

"I don't know the story!" Genora protested. "That's the trouble with all of this! I don't know the damn story! I don't want the story! I'm tired of Kathryn showing me things I don't know about, shouldn't know about, and now she's shoving her pain onto me!"

"Genora, calm down," John said sharply. "You're exhausted, stressed, and had a nightmare. We've been doing nothing but creating the adventures and pleasant moments Kathryn and the Doctor have had, and your mind is reminding you no character is perfect." He smiled gently, setting a hand on her shoulder the way a close older brother might. "That's all."

Genora drew in a shuddering breath. "John…John it was _real_. Too real."

"It was a dream Kathryn," John reassured her quietly, drawing Genora into a hug. "Just a dream."

A minute passed before the hug loosened. Genora giggled when she looked down at herself. "Wow. Awkward state of dress."

"Never thought I'd see you in your pajamas, I will agree." John frowned, teasing. "Are those ducks?"

"I like ducks!"

"Don't get offended." Suddenly he drew back. "Do your parents know where you are?"

"No," Genora sniffed. "They're out of town at the moment. A cousin of mine is getting married. I can't afford to miss class and study time, so I stayed."

"You still should go home. It's three in the morning." John stood, as did Genora. "I should drive you back. Where do you live?" He paused, picking up his keys. "How did you even know where I live?"

Genora stepped into the hallway as John locked the door behind them. "I saw your address on a letter one of the other girls in physics tried to mail you. I think she lost the nerve. Did you know you have a fan club?"

"What?"

"That's precisely what I said. From the bits I overhear, most of the females think you look good in glasses or something."

"Are you saying I'm plain?"

"Possibly." She grinned. "Or possibly not. You are a bit of an egotist, whichever way you look at it."

"For an introvert, you're rather rude."

"I never pretended not to be insulting; simply private."

The banter continued on the five minute drive to Genora's house. Before getting out, she turned to him.

"I'm sorry about waking you up."

John shrugged. "It's alright." He looked at her, concerned. "Will you be alright here?"

"Yes. I think the impromptu run and the artwork got it out of my system."

"You're certain you don't want the picture?"

"I can still see it behind my eyes, John."

"Right. Should have figured that." There was a pause. Genora turned to him abruptly.

"Are doing anything for the holiday?"

"The…oh, you mean Monday."

"Yes, Memorial Day. The American version of Remembrance Day."

"Not necessarily. Why do you ask?"

"My family usually has a barbecue day of, either here at the house or down by the river…do you want to come? Unless of course you're busy…or vegetarian."

"What time would I need to be here?"

"Oh, I don't know. Around two? I know; have you got a bit of paper?"

"The glove box." Genora rummaged in the compartment for a moment and produced a pen and a pad of paper. After scribbling something down she handed it to John. "My cell number. Send me a message with your name, and I'll let you know the time."

John glanced at the digits. "Will do."

"Good. I'll see you then." Genora nodded shortly and quickly got out of John's car then turned as she remembered something.

"How old are you?" she asked

"Twenty-seven."

"Wow. I thought you were—" Genora bit her lip and John raised an eyebrow.

"You were going to say older."

"I shan't lie by denying it." She flushed. "Ah…my family might give you problems."

"Ah yes." John smiled. "Our previous distaste of each other's company."

"Well, that as well but…I haven't brought home very many people for my parents to meet, and never of the opposite gender."

John stared for a moment before his eyes widened as he understood. "Oh! Oh."

"That's not the reason I'm inviting you or anything, I'm simply warning you."

"I see. Why haven't you? Introduced anyone to your parents."

"I don't play well with others." Genora smiled suddenly. "Oh, Lula's never going to shut up about it though."

"Who?"

"My friend. One of two."

"Who's the other one?"

Genora looked at him steadily. "Some idiot who lets me ring the doorbell at two in the morning."

She shut the car door and disappeared into the house. John waited for her to be inside before leaving.

Only then did it occur to John that he had called Genora Kathryn, and just how natural it had felt.

* * *

_Ping!_

Unthinking, Genora answered Lula's video chat, then regretted it a second later.

"Oh…my…word. Genora…why are you wearing shorts? And since when do you go shopping without consulting me first?"

"Memorial Day holiday Lula, or have you forgotten American customs in Taiwan?"

"You never, ever, as a rule, wear shorts. Even ones that go to the knee. You have always been perpetually terrified of the sun."

Genora held up a bottle. "SPF 70, every ninety minutes."

"Still…why are you wearing shorts?"

Genora stood awkwardly. Lula filled in the blanks on her own and her mouth dropped open in a large 'O.'

"John asked you out."

"Not exactly. I asked him."

"Genora! Woohoo! It's like a romantic comedy! Two people hate each other, they start talking, they fall in love…oh Genora. Only you would end up with a story-tale life."

"It's not a date!" Genora protested. "He's just…he's been helping me deal with the stories and I thought it would be nice—"

"To invite him home to meet the family." Lula gasped, eyes widening. "Ginny! What's Gregory going to say when he finds out?"

"He's not coming home this weekend. I think he's studying for finals, and then there's his graduation and such like."

"You're just postponing it."

"It's not like anyone's going to die over it!"

"They might."

"Lula, you don't help at all."

"That's why I'm here. No! Not the red shirt!"

Genora paused in front of her dresser. "What?"

"Put it back! Where's your green long sleeve?"

"In the drawer…"

"Good." Lula nodded firmly. "Get that one instead. You look better in it."

"Lula! I am not going courting!"

"I don't care! You don't have to like a guy to be going on a date with him or to look nice. Now get the green one!"

"Lula…someday I will be able to reason around you."

"No you won't. I know you too well."

"Oh, I can't wait till you're home."

"And when I am home, you, Story-Boy, and I are all going to lunch. He's paying, and he is going through the best-friend interrogation."

"Lula!"

Genora's friend giggled. "Call you later Ginny-O!" Lula quickly closed her window before Genora could say anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

John parked his car next to a blue van at the end of a dirt road. Genora had called him with the directions, but this was still rather…nowhere. After a dozen back roads, he had no idea where he was anymore.

Shrugging, he went down the narrow trail, soon hearing water running. Two bends later he heard a voice.

"John!"

Genora came trotting up, looking surprisingly pretty without the dress-pants and button-down blouse. She grinned up at him from under the wide brim of a white sun hat. "I was worried you had gotten lost." Genora looked him up and down, the smiled teasingly. "Really? Even your swim trunks are striped? Do you just have a thing for streaks or something?"

"What's wrong with stripes?"

"Nothing, on someone as skinny as you. But still…try plaid once in a while." She turned and trotted off. "Come on. Ribs are about to go on."

John followed obediently. Shortly he finally came upon the river. It was a section of the larger river with the more well-known bank likely somewhere upstream, but this spot was perfect. Shade and sunlight, mix of rocks and sand. Water slow enough to swim in and trees blocking harsher winds. Blankets were already laid out and a fire was already lit, grill-like grating set up over it.

John took all this in as two people walked over. Genora gestured to John.

"Daddy, this is John Smith, the physics T.A. and often the bane of my existence. Mom, John Smith, temporary wall. John, my parents."

John shook hands, feeling slightly self-conscious. "Pleasure to meet you," he managed.

"Glad you could join us," Mr. O'Conner answered. He was shorter than John, maybe 5'6", with graying dark hair and beard. He was of the usual middle-age roundness, but there was a stockiness to him that spoke of the Scots Irish and German roots. Mrs. O'Conner was the same height as her husband with long dark brown hair, though she was slimmer.

"John, do you eat ribs with or without the sauce?"

John looked over at Genora who was starting to lay already cut ribs on the grating over the fire. He frowned, confused.

"I thought the father traditionally played with fire."

"Not in this house!"

Mr. O'Conner laughed quietly. "Genora has remained the permanent holiday grill master ever since she discovered how to grill the perfect set of ribs."

"John! Sauce yea or nay?"

"However you do it is fine with me."

"Good."

"So John," Mr. O'Conner said. "What are you studying for?"

"I'm working on a double major in Theoretical Physics and Calculus."

Mr. O'Conner seemed slightly impressed in a disbelieving way, but more on the impressed side. "Heavy load."

"Not as much as you might think. But yes, it is trying at times."

"Why come here to study, if you don't mind the question."

John looked at Mrs. O'Conner. "Pardon?"

"I'm probably being rude, but you're obviously not from around here."

John blinked. Genora cut in, wiping her hands on a cloth as she headed for the ice box. "An English brainiac should be at a larger, smarter, more well-known school on the East Coast."

"Genora!" Mrs. O'Conner admonished. John blinked, mouth open slightly.

"I'm not certain if I should be insulted or flattered."

Genora opened her water bottle, crossing back to the fire. "I'm usually more tactful, but you usually catch on faster. Why here? What are you doing in the Mid-West at a small college?"

"Genora!" her mother hissed again.

"No it's alright," John said. "I was…attending a large school in England already. There were complications, so I sought a smaller location."

"That's a long way to travel for a smaller location," Mr. O'Conner said. John nodded.

"Yes. The issue was rather…sticky." John felt odd telling the story. Somehow it felt…unfinished. Vague. As if he himself didn't actually know what had happened.

"John?"

He refocused. Mr. and Mrs. O'Conner seemed concerned. "Are you feeling okay? Heat getting to you already?"

"No, I don't think so." John shook his head. "Memories. So, if your opinion of this school is so low—"

"Why am I attending?" Genora finished for him. She shrugged. "It's close to home. I'm still only eighteen, so I live at home. My brother went here and the teachers know me sort of. I was able to secure a scholarship. It has classes I can take and use. Mostly because it's close to home."

"You're a younger sibling?"

Genora nodded. "Yes. My brother is away at school, so he couldn't show." She seemed disappointed.

"Who says?"

Genora's face lit up as her head snapped around to look at the owner of the new voice. "Gregory!" Dropping the barbecue tongs, she dashed across to the road entrance and flung herself at a young man in his early twenties. By the look of him, he was undoubtedly Genora's brother.

"I thought you weren't coming!"

"When the sun went dark at noon and locusts started flying in, I figured that the impossible had happened and you brought a guy home. I couldn't let it pass."

Genora turned around and stared at her father, color rising in her cheeks. "Daddy!"

Mr. and Mrs. O'Conner were both smiling, obviously having known that Gregory was coming and enjoying the in-family teasing. "I just said you were bringing a male friend from school."

"Dad!" Genora protested again. She turned back to Gregory. "You be nice." She walked next to Gregory as he approached John. Gregory extended his hand. Despite looking so much like Mr. O'Conner, Gregory's inspection was far more obvious. John was sure to look him in the eye.

"John. Genora's mentioned you in e-mails."

"Really?" John raised his eyebrows. "Nothing too out of reach I hope."

"Just that you drove her insane and she'd rather be caught dead than speaking to you."

"Gregory!"

Gregory looked at his sister. "This is the same guy, right?"

"Stop it!" Genora looked mortified. "I told you to be nice!"

"He's British though. You would zero in on the English guy."

"Gregory!"

Gregory grinned broadly, showing a mouthful of teeth. He was obviously picking on his sister. "Okay. I'll stop."

"Thank you!" Genora turned to John, flustered. "I sent that e-mail months ago when we still despised each other."

"Yeah, how does that work anyway?" Gregory asked. "You're one of the most stubborn people I know Genora."

Genora made a face at her brother. "And so, I willfully decide not to tell you." She stalked back to her ribs. Gregory smiled before looking to John.

"Your answer?"

"Stories, I suppose," John told him. "She was drawing something in physics and I happened to see."

Gregory frowned. "And she discussed the story behind the picture? With you?"

John made a sort of face. "Well, sort of. It disturbed her and she threw out the notebook—"

"Shut up John."

John and Gregory looked at Genora, who was holding the barbecue tongs threateningly with a stony face. "My story."

"You refused to tell your brother," John defended himself, confused. Genora didn't lower the tongs.

"My story."

Gregory tapped John on the shoulder, motioning him to step away. Gregory lowered his voice. "You haven't been talking to her very long, have you?"

"Not sociably, no."

"Ah. Explains it. Genora's ah…touchy, about her stories. She doesn't really discuss them with people and she's not fond of other people telling them."

"She's written others?"

Gregory raised his eyebrows. "You really haven't been talking to her for long. Ask her sometime."

John and Gregory continued chattering and Mr. O'Conner joined them. Mrs. O'Conner drifted over to Genora, who was still carefully overseeing the meat.

"Your friend has survived so far."

Genora smiled. "Yes. Better than I expected, actually. I'm glad Gregory didn't get upset about the story though."

"Oh, he knows that he's away and you need a story wall while he's out of reach. Of course, Gregory will be expecting to hear all about it when you have the chance."

"Well yeah," Genora returned, for once forgoing grammar. "It's Gregory; I always tell him."

Mrs. O'Conner smiled. "Besides, at least John is smart enough to talk to you, though it will forever be a mystery as to why you got along with him so suddenly."

"It's…complicated."

"So you've said, but I can still ask. Your brother was right about one thing though."

"What?"

"You would go for the English guy."

"Mom."

Mrs. O'Conner leaned in a little ways, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "He's pretty cute too."

"Mom!"

"What?" Mrs. O'Conner winked, then squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "It's okay to like someone when you're eighteen."

"John is a friend, for the last time."

"Okay. He's still a good choice."

"Mom." Genora shook her head, smiling at her mother. Mrs. O'Conner grinned.

"Love you princess."

"You too." Genora turned one of the ribs. "Ah-ha! We're done."

There was a good-natured hubbub as the meat was brought to the table and seats were taken. Corn, salad, ribs, bread, and fruit moved around the table as plates were filled and people started eating. Conversation was light, mostly consisting of how very good the food was, until there was a small lull and John asked, "Genora, your brother said that you'd written before."

He could sense a slight change in the others as they mirrored Genora's sudden tenseness. There was a pause, and then she nodded.

"Yes. I write stories when I have time, but I've published a few articles as a free-lance journalist. Not a lot, but enough that I know I can make money that way if push comes to shove."

"Anything I might have read?"

"That depends what sort of online junk you've read."

"Not junk," Mr. O'Conner put in. "Just local."

"Yes, junk," Genora retorted. "Dry, facty stuff. Boring reads. Blech. Hate journalism."

"You could always do editorials," Gregory said. Genora looked at her brother.

"You have to be older and have more experience to write those. As it is they already trim anything I send because it's too opinionated." She glared suddenly at John. "What are you frowning at?"

John smiled, amused. "I'm trying to picture you writing anything that wasn't imaginative or saying anything un-opinionated."

"Exactly!" Genora exclaimed. "Stories are so much more fun. I hate journalism."

"What sort of stories have you written?"

Genora shrugged, trying a little too hard to act as if it didn't mean anything. "Mostly science-fiction. Some fantasy. That's why I'm really taking all my math and science classes; can't write what you don't know."

John frowned, confused. "Then what's your major?"

Genora bit her lip, embarrassed. "I barely remember what my end degree is supposed to be. I know that I'm an English major, but even that's broad."

John blinked. "For someone so organized and dedicated, I have trouble believing that."

"Nevertheless, it is true. I…I put great faith in schooling and higher education. But I'm really here for just that; the learning, not the diploma or any fancy degree."

"As long as your grades stay solid and you don't lose the scholarship, it's okay," Mrs. O'Conner said. She glanced at everyone's plates. "We're all finished?"

There was agreement and Gregory grinned. It was a broad, toothy grin that filled his whole face. Maybe not swoon-worthy, but genuine. He looked at his sister. "Did you make them?"

Genora grimaced. "Sorry Gregory. I didn't know you were coming, so I thought I wouldn't bother."

Gregory's face fell. Genora sighed. "Of course, I then I thought again and made them anyway. Icebox."

Mrs. O'Conner waved Gregory to stay sitting. "I'm already up. Stay."

Plates were passed down and put into a trash bag at the end of the table. Mrs. O'Conner returned with a saran wrapped plate and set it down within reach of everyone.

"Lemon bars," John said, slightly surprised. Gregory already had one in his hand and had taken a bite. Genora grinned at him.

"Satisfactory?"

"Yes."

Genora turned to John. "My family is big on citrus. We have a lemon tree in the back and I make lemon bars."

"You garden?"

"No," Genora said, stressing the negative. "Mom is the gardener."

"To the complaints of everyone else," Mrs. O'Conner said.

"We don't complain," Mr. O'Conner said. "There's nothing we have against the garden."

"Mom, I like the plants," Genora explained, cutting in. "I just don't like the amount of work that has to go into it. Your irises _are_ gorgeous."

"You just say that because you killed your cactus plant last year," Gregory reminded her.

"Exactly!" Genora exclaimed. "If plants were sentient and could take care of themselves, I would be okay with it. I'd visit just to visit, maybe feed them a rat once a week as you would a snake. Like Mortica from the _Addams Family_."

"Is that why Kathryn has sentient plants in her greenhouse?"

Genora shot John a dark look. "John. My story. Not yours."

Her tone was so serious that he pulled back, nodding his head in a gesture of apology. Genora bit her lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

The talk moved back to school and finals and jobs and other safe topics. After a bit Genora stood, stretching. "I am going for a walk," she announced.

"May I join you?"

Genora nodded to John. "Sure. Gregory?"

"Nah, I'll stay here."

"Alright."

Genora and John were silent at first until finally John said, "Thank you for having me."

"Oh, not a problem." Genora waved a hand. "I felt bad waking you up so early. I figured this might work as an apology."

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's nice being in a circle." He paused, looking for something else. "Your brother is a very individualistic person."

Genora giggled. "Isn't he though? I don't know what I would have become without him as a role model."

"What's your age difference?"

"Four years, four days, four months," Genora declared proudly. "He already told you that he's an Anthropology major. He's graduating next weekend."

"The two of you seem close."

"Incredibly so. We used to sit and wait for my parents to get off work, and we'd talk about anything and everything; some serious, some not. I'd be crushed if I lost him somehow. He's just…always been there for me."

John looked at her sideways, adsorbing the information. "So, explain the maths classes again if you're an English major."

Genora bit her lip, ducking her head as if embarrassed. "I'm sorry for snapping earlier. I should have explained all of this when we first got on good terms."

"Explained…"

"My stories are very…private things. It's just the way I write. It's a very exposing thing John, and I don't share my works-in-progress with a lot of people. Usually it's just Gregory; he's always been my story wall because I trust him. That's why he was so shocked when you said that that was how we became friends. In his mind—and in mine—I become a friend with someone before even telling them that I write."

"What about your other friend?"

"Lula isn't very interested in stories unless they're auto-biographies about people in fantastic places, and even then she doesn't sit still for very long. I think she's bent on living enough to write her own one day, though she says she'll get me to actually arrange all of it."

"Why are your stories so personal?"

"Have you ever heard of the phrase, write what you know? You can't create reliable, believable anything if you've lived and felt none of it." The odd, deep glow of a passion lit in the back of Genora's eyes. "All stories, all characters, are reflections of the people who create them; a section of mind and personality enlarged and refracted through a hundred different lenses."

She continued, the glow reaching her voice. "I take the things I know and love and feel, put them in a kaleidoscope. Then I twist and repaint until I understand why I know and love and feel all the things I do. And I do it again and again. Then I take all the things I don't know and that I hate and run from, all the things I don't want but I need, and I put them in a rock tumbler and smash them against each other until they're all broken apart and I can sprinkle it across the pages of ink like sand to dry the sparkling words and roughen them until they're real, and each character is perfectly flawed, and disgustingly magnificent."

John stared at Genora, feeling as though he'd learned something completely new about her that he really ought to have seen before. That pushing in the back of his mind beat against him, working to remind him of—

"Why on Earth did I just tell you that?" Genora said, breaking John's concentration. "I haven't told that much to Lula. Even Gregory got the simplified version." She peered at him, confused. "John, why do I feel as if I know you better than anyone else?"

"Maybe we met in a past life."

"Maybe."

A splashing came from upstream and they turned to see two kayakers coming towards them. One obviously knew what they were doing while the second was painfully novice. Genora and John watched them struggle past. As they drew level with them, the one trying to instruct sighed in a frustrated way and exclaimed,

"I swear Catherine; you are more trouble than you're worth."

It happened faster than John could really understand. Genora jerked as though something had hit her, then she went limp and collapsed. John barely managed to catch her.

"Genora? Genora!" She didn't answer. Putting his arms under her back and legs, John picked her up and headed back to the picnic site as quickly as he could.


	8. Chapter 8

_What happened?_

I did.

_ Who are you?_

I'm you, Genora. I'm the you that you're supposed to be.

_You can't be. I'm me._

No. You're what I used to be. We can't be that anymore. I can't be that anymore.

_ Why not?_

Because it's not my life to live, even like this when it's not quite right.

_ But I can feel you. I know what your life is. I don't want that._

Neither do I, at least parts of it. But you can't be here anymore. We have no right to this.

_ But I feel it! I know this. I love this. I want this. I need this. I don't want to leave who I am for what you are._

We are the same. You became me.

_No. I am nothing like you. You are pain and lonely and death and electricity and fear. I am safety and family and life and calm. I don't want what you are. I don't have to be who you are when I'm in here._

You are always me. You are my base platform, and you are so important, but you do not exist in a reality. You are dreaming of a life we can't have; not anymore.

_But I want this. I want this._

What about him? Will you leave him behind?

_ He's __**your**__ Man in the Stripes. Not mine. I don't want him. He costs too much. I won't trade what I have for him._

You can't—

_No! I won't listen. I don't have to listen to you._

* * *

"She's awake!"

Genora's world was blurry and bright. Shapes moved in it. She blinked and the blurs became four people in a hospital room. She frowned.

"Lula?" Genora peered at her friend. "What are you doing here?"

Lula gave Genora a look. "You weren't there when my flight came in. Very poor manners Ginny girl."

Genora tried to sit up but her mother pulled her back down. "What do you mean? You weren't due for more than a week."

"Yeah, that week was over yesterday."

Genora stared at her dumbly, then her eyes widened. "Ohmygosh it's finals week."

"You are going nowhere," Genora's mother said in the tone only mothers seem to have. "We still don't know what happened to you, you only just woke up, and you've had us all terrified for a week."

"I can't miss my tests Mom!"

"I'm sure that the university will cut you some slack and let you take them later," her father assured her. Genora, infuriated, grudgingly sat back on her bed.

"Fine. Why am I here anyway?"

"You collapsed by the river. Do you remember? John said you were walking and you suddenly crumpled. He had to carry you back." Gregory said.

"Seriously Ginny," Lula lectured her. "I've told you to play the girl, but fainting in a guy's arms is too far. He'd better be cuter than I remember."

Genora blinked, trying to recall. Talking to John…kayaks…someone talking…and then she woke up.

She glanced towards the door and inhaled sharply. Everyone else turned, all looking at John.

"You're awake." The relief was clear in his voice.

"Princess?" Genora's mother said worriedly. "Genora what is it?"

Genora had covered her face, disturbed. "Get him out," she said hoarsely.

"Genora…"

"I don't want to see him. Please, get him out of here."

Gregory and Lula stood as one. John stared at Genora, then at the two self-appointed protectors. Despite his confusion and everyone else's, he pulled back.

* * *

When visiting hours were over, a very tall man in a lab coat with a stethoscope looped around his neck ducked into one of the In-Patient rooms. The bed's occupant tensed when she saw him, focusing very hard on the foot of the bed.

"Please leave."

John crouched next to her. "Genora, what happened? What did I do?"

Genora shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. "No. I won't think about it. Please just go."

"Was it another vision? A character's memory?"

Genora sat very still, then nodded as she whispered. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"No. No. Go away. I'm not living that any more. I won't. Go away Smith. Go away and leave me alone."

"Genora—"

"You heard her."

John turned around to see Lula and Gregory standing in the doorway. A nurse stood behind them, explaining how they had gotten in.

"My sister asked you to leave."

"I have to understand the rest."

"She told you to cut out, Sonny Jim," Lula said sharply.

"Neither of you understand what even started this," John hissed. "I can help; I know I can. I just have to finish."

Gregory took two large steps and gripped John's upper arm and hauled him up, dragging him to the door.

"Get out mate. I don't care if you're the D.A. My sister doesn't want to see you, so you are going to not be seen."

"Gregory, let me talk to him."

Gregory glanced at Lula. "You sure?"

"Yes. I know what he's doing."

John didn't feel any safer with the short wiry Latina than he had with Genora's brother. Lula fixed him with a stare.

"Why exactly are you trying to push this story of hers?"

"What?"

"She's told me about her waking dreams, Smithy. I know her Doctor is practically you, just glorified and perfected."

"He is?"

"Don't you play with me or my friend, John Smith. I don't care if you've suddenly taken a shine to someone a decade younger than you, or if you've bonded over a story, or if you can suddenly be a hero. Genora has never been perfectly stable, perfectly sane, or open to anyone. The story she created with you is cracking what she has here, and I will not have you shatter it. I will not let you. Now get out, and do not return. Leave her in her own life."

Lula turned around sharply and left John in the hall. He stood, unwilling to admit defeat but not knowing what else to do. He sat down in a nearby chair, thinking.

Genora had experienced something; something that had really, truly felt like a reality to her, not just a story. But what, out of all the pieces they had discussed, was enough to cause her to hide from her characters?

She was her characters. Were her characters…her? Actual memories? Buried memories of someone else that was also Genora? Had Genora been this Kathryn? Or would she become this Kathryn?

And then there was him. The pushing in his mind when they went through the stories. He knew things he shouldn't, didn't know things he should. He and Genora were far too close, had gone from hatred to close friends in the space of five weeks. It was like…they were getting to know each other for the second time after they had been separated by an argument that no longer meant anything.

He'd called her Kathryn.

Her characters were part of her.

John didn't know his own history.

Was he part of a story she was writing, a story she herself was trapped in?

"Sir?"

John blinked at the nurse that had let in Gregory and Lula. She held out a folded piece of paper to him. "Genora sent this, and you need t leave."

John nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I will."

The nurse gave him a look before leaving. John opened the paper, Genora's swirling cursive for once wrinkled with emotions.

_Smith—_

_ I'm sorry for not explaining in person. I just…I can't have this personality, this other person living in my head. The thought that I might be…it terrifies me. I don't want to be her._

_ I won't be coming back to the university next year. I won't be seeing you. Please John. Leave my memories and me alone. Let the stories rest._

_ Go to my house. Gregory called our parents. They'll have all the notebooks and story sections we've created. They're yours now. I hope you find what you seek, and can leave me to my own search. Allons-y, mon ami._

The pushing broke through. John's mind was flooded, swallowed, changed, and brought back to what it had been derived from.

The Doctor folded the note, looking at the world around him. It hadn't changed; no one was coming. Maybe they—whoever they were—hadn't noticed. He needed a space now. Maybe John's flat. That would look natural, to return to the home. He could think there. First to Kathryn's Persona house. He needed those story pieces; maybe he'd find something in there.

Carefully the Doctor tucked the note into his pocket and left the hospital.


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks had passed. Genora had been released with the doctors calling it heat stroke. She knew they just said that because they didn't know what else to call her illness. She knew what it had been, but she was not going to tell. That was done, forever and always. The headaches had gone away, the visions had left. They had made a last attempt when she'd taken her belated physics final two days ago, but other than that there had been nothing, and there never would be.

It was a wonderful feeling to be free of Kathryn and her story. Genora was the only one in her head again, and no one outside her mind would ask questions and bring up the memories that didn't belong to her. She had a real life to live now, and she was going to live it.

She was already sitting in her car when she noticed the note stuck under the wiper. Standing up again she opened it. Genora didn't recognize the handwriting. It had a haphazard feel about it, as if the person writing had been under pressure.

Genora—

Meet me at down at the park. We need to speak about your stories, and you owe me for drawing me into this.

John S.

John S.? Genora frowned. John had never signed anything, be it a note or a graded paper, anything other than J. Smith, and never in such a strange hand. Was he ill?

Genora bit her lip. She really, really, really didn't want to see him. He was the cloud in her wonderful blue sky of a future. Unfortunately, he was right; she owed him a better explanation than a quickly scribbled note after all she'd put him through.

* * *

The Doctor was waiting impatiently. He'd slowly pieced everything together over the past two weeks, and understood what had happened. The hard part would be convincing Kathryn. If he was right, and he usually was, this was the life she had had as a human. It was her perceived family, and she would fight very hard to keep them. Why exactly he, or rather John, had been a part of it the Doctor was still shaky on, but whatever the reason it hadn't been a solid hold; he could likely leave now should he really try. But he couldn't simply leave her here.

Genora's car pulled up and she stepped out, an iced coffee in her hand. She had stopped somewhere. She was stalling. Some part of her brain knew what he was going to say, and she didn't want to face it.

Genora walked up to him, uneasy. "You said you wanted to talk?"

"Kathryn, you are more trouble than you're worth."

Genora blanched. "Why would you say that?" she hissed.

"Because you heard it before you collapsed."

"And you're trying to recreate the moment?"

"I'm trying to recreate your name."

Genora blinked at him. "What?"

"The pieces were there. Kathryn, more, trouble. Kathryn Trouble Moore. It's your name."

"Are you mad John?"

"I've been called it."

Genora shook her head. "Look, I came here because I thought you deserved a better goodbye than the one I gave you, but if you're going to start pushing these stupid stories back onto me then I'm leaving. I'll have none of it; not anymore."

"Why not? Do they scare you?"

"Asks the man I woke up at two in the morning because of a nightmare."

"Why Genora? Why would they scare you so much?"

"Because they do!"

"Not a reason."

"It works perfectly well for me."

The Doctor purposefully straightened his coat. Genora finally looked him over and her mouth dropped open in disgust. "You _are_ obsessed! You're even dressing like him now! Where did you even get that trench coat? And you hate converse shoes. Why are you doing this?" she suddenly accused. "Is this a really sick joke? You know what this is, what this does to me. Are you suddenly the Doctor now?"

"I always have been; I simply didn't know it."

Genora looked stunned. It took a moment before she could answer. "I think you're a lunatic Mr. Smith. These are stories, and in a way they always belonged more to you than to me. I don't know why you asked me here, and I see no reason to stick around."

"They aren't stories Genora, no more than anything else is."

"You're the one who convinced me that Kathryn was a character."

"You are your characters. You said so at the river."

"Alright then, Doctor," Genora sneered. "Explain how you've suddenly come to this revelation. What makes you think my fantasy is your reality?"

"This world is the fantasy Genora. If you listened to Kathryn, you would remember how we got here. You were having another flying lesson; the TARDIS was caught while I had the shields down. We noticed readings of massive computers and dormant life signs from the station that caught us. We were knocked unconscious before we even landed. We must be part of the computer somehow; you've created a corner of it based upon who you were."

"This is who I am." Genora shook her head. "No. I think Lula's right. You're just a lonely man hitting middle age who's trying too hard to find a girlfriend. But if you're going this far, then you're a _sick_ middle-aged man."

"This is who you were," the Doctor stressed. "The first you, the life you want back, the life that is no longer yours. You know that."

"Well obviously I have it," Genora snapped at him. "I've lived it well enough for these past years, and I see no reason to turn to a delusion that an idiot T.A. has taken too far."

"How many years?"

"What?"

"How old are you."

Genora blinked once. "Eighteen."

"You hesitated."

"No I didn't."

"You hesitated because you aren't eighteen yet. What's your brother's name?"

Another blink. "Gregory."

"Wrong. You told me once his name was Geoffrey. You were very specific about the English spelling. How many pets?"

Blink. "None."

"You had two dogs. How long did you live in Texas?"

Two rapid blinks. "I never have."

"You left when you were five. Who is Floyd?"

"He's a member of the Refti strain, commonly called a Plaw. Venus fly-trap on major steroids, with the speed of a striking snake and the brain power of a four year old. First plant in the greenhouse." Genora clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide with sudden fear. "How did I know that? I don't even have a greenhouse."

"Because you aren't Genora, Kathryn."

"Don't call me that."

"Kathryn Moore."

"Stop it."

"It's your name."

"No. No, I'm Genora."

"You're Kathryn Trouble Moore, the unexplainable Jahra Rahki clone."

_Guosh!_

The Doctor stood, blinking through the iced coffee he'd just been hit with. Genora was quivering with restrained emotions. Her voice was very controlled and strained.

"My name is Genora Alexis O'Conner, and I refuse to be Kathryn. I will not play your game Mr. Smith, and if you continue to contact me I will have you arrested for stalking and harassment. This is my life, and I will live it well away from you."

She turned sharply, striding for her car. The Doctor ran around in front of Genora, stopping her. "If you had some kind of physical proof, would you at least consider it?"

"If you're trapped in my mind," Genora asked sarcastically, "how do you plan on proving that anything is what it is?"

"If you know that the world you're in isn't real, if you know for absolute certainty that it isn't a physical world, mind will conquer perceived matter."

"If you choose to think so. Common science fiction plot. Had a _STAR TREK_ episode in the Original Series about it. There was one in the Voyager Series too—John!"

The Doctor had produced a scalpel and was rolling up a sleeve. He wasn't really into self-harm, and would rather have done this with a high-powered laser, but this crazy faux world didn't have the required materials, even after searching for the past two weeks. Genora was struggling to hold on as much as Kathryn was trying to get out.

"Genora, you have got to let go."

"John, give me that." There was a tremor in her voice. "Be sensible, please."

"It won't do any damage Genora." Still focusing on her, he pulled the sharp end carefully down his arm, hoping it was going in. He couldn't feel it doing anything. Genora's pale face said everything.

"John, stop it! You're scaring me, stop it!"

The Doctor stopped and Genora instantly claimed the scalpel. She took half a second to throw it to the side before turning to stare near horrified at the Doctor's arm.

"It—you—"Genora's eyes rolled backwards and she collapsed. The Doctor took a moment to think how disgracefully weak Kathryn's human had been. She was always passing out or on the verge of it.

He crouched next to her and was about to try waking her when her eyes snapped open. They fixed on the Doctor and she smacked him sharply before scrambling up.

"You're a lunatic, John Smith."

"If I am, then where is my scar, Genora? Where is the blood? You wanted the physical proof; I gave it to you. Let go of this world! This isn't your home!"

"It is! It is, it is, it is!" Genora protested. "Everything I know is here! I will not listen to her or to you! Just leave!"

The Doctor's eyes softened slightly. "You felt her in her entirety, didn't you? That's why you collapsed at the river. She's so full of power... Two minds at once, so you overloaded. You felt her."

"I…no. No I didn't. She isn't real. She isn't alive."

"Kathryn!" The Doctor gripped her shoulders, shaking her. "You've got to wake up. This isn't real and you know that. Think for a moment Genora! You and I became such good friends so quickly because we already are. You hated me because you knew I would do this to you. The memories were too vivid; the emotions were too real. Just think!"

"No!" Genora struggled back. "No I won't! I refuse to become someone who lives like that!" Genora swallowed hard, tears starting to come. "She's lost her home and family and friends and her life! She's killed people and she's lonely and in such pain from the power she's forced to carry. She runs from everything and knows too much and too little about herself." The landscape wobbled slightly as if made of silk. Genora didn't seem to notice. "She has no constant, nothing to hold on to. She's terrified of you and yet so devoted to you that it isn't natural Doctor. I will not become that, I won't! Here I have my family and my friends and my future and I don't have to run and I have consistency. I won't be who she is."

Genora breathed heavily, her eyes closed. The Doctor waited for the world to stop trembling before speaking again. "Kathryn…you can't go back and live like Genora again. This world is based on your mind; you control it—"

They both jumped as rain started to fall out of what had been cloudless sky ten seconds before. The Doctor looked back at her. "See? And I know that you don't want out. The headaches come from the fact that you fight with yourself. But you can't stay and keep it pure. You already broke the rules once when suddenly your brother and your friend showed up past visiting hours at the hospital and now the weather reflects your moods. If you return to your world again, you will always know in the back of your mind that it isn't real and you'll start to change it. You won't grow, you won't live; it won't be real."

"Why couldn't you leave it alone Doctor?" Genora's voice had started to gain a slight Southern drawl. She shook her head, holding onto his arms. "Why couldn't you just leave it?" She looked up into his face and he saw that her eyes were becoming green again. "I want to be here. I should be here. I can have my family and she can have hers. Why won't you let me stay?"

"Because this isn't you Kathryn. You can't stay here."

"Well why not?" Genora snapped suddenly, breaking away. "What would some great hero alien need me for anyway? I'm frightened of most things, and I barely travel in my own state. I live in books and writings, and that's all. I'm not designed for gallivanting about the universe. Why would the Doctor need me?"

"Because…" the Doctor swallowed. "Because he's alone, and he needs someone to keep him from breaking, someone to keep him in check, and right now, he needs Kathryn."

"Why would he need her to do it?" Genora challenged. "Kathryn is the most fractured thing I've ever thought up! She's nothing but pain, fear, and death. She destroys everything and she's alone. She's a freak! She's a test-tube grown, energy sucking, people killing, hunted, encyclopedic freak! She can't even touch anyone! Why the hell would she need to exist again? What good could come from it?"

"Because she's magnificent Genora," the Doctor pleaded. "Think about the stories we've written. Kathryn is bright and sharp and brave, and she's saved so many. She's a dragonfly on fire, racing and burning and beautiful and if she remembers this I'm never going to hear the end of it because she is just brilliant."

Genora stared and for a second the Doctor thought he had it. Her face stiffened again. "You're the Doctor. Get a new one and leave me with my world."

"I won't!" the Doctor nearly pleaded. "There's just the one Kathryn and I'm not replacing her!"

"And I can't replace this!" Genora looked back at him with pained eyes. "Didn't you see it? Family and school and rhythm and solid ground? This is the life I should have had, the life I want to have. I want to grow up and write books and get married and have kids and grow old and die the normal natural way. I want this life so badly, and it won't exist if I leave here. She'll die again and I'll lose them again. I don't want to lose them again."

"You already have Kathryn," the Doctor said, his voice soft again. "You can't resume this world and act as if you still believe it's real. You'll be playacting at a life that isn't yours with a family you were never truly part of."

"I've done it before!"

"This time you'll know."

Genora pressed her knuckles against her mouth, staring hard at nothing. Finally she sagged. When she looked up at the Doctor he saw the change to her face.

"Fine Fly-boy," Kathryn said flatly. "You win." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone and hit a speed dial. "But I'm not going without closing things first. Get out. I only need five minutes."

"Kathryn—"

"Dammit Doctor! Just let me say goodbye!"


	10. Chapter 10

The Doctor's eyes opened and he sat up, staring at his surroundings. Hospital style bed. Curtains to either side of him. A few yards past his semi-enclosure was another bed, except the person in it was still unconscious. The Doctor twisted his neck around to look behind him and saw a cubby-hole with his clothes folded neatly inside. Looking down at himself he saw that he was in white scrubs. The hum of massive computers mixed with the engines of a space station filled the air.

"Kathryn!"

"Other side of the curtain."

The Doctor pushed a curtain aside to reveal Kathryn sitting cross-legged on her own bed, chin resting on folded hands. He frowned. "How did you get out before I did?"

"The mind works faster than a computer so they probably built a very high-speed one," she explained hollowly. "I doubt we were in there for more than a few days all told. I probably left not even a millisecond after you did. You always did take so long to take in surroundings."

The Doctor's expression turned compassionate. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live." Without looking at him she waved dispassionately at the curtain. "Close that; I want to get back into my own clothes."

The Doctor did as bidden. He tried to take his time changing to give her space, but he was still buttoning up his shirt when Kathryn pulled the curtain aside. She was back in her usual get-up: long sleeve shirt, gloves, jeans, sturdy boots, and an old Gallifreian messenger bag that held almost everything including the kitchen sink. It was strange seeing her like that after the freer, casual-professional look she'd had in the virtual world.

Kathryn made a face at him. "Wow you're slow. Get dressed skinny man! We'll either have company soon or go find some. Can't be half dressed when we meet the programmers now."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and was about to say something but Kathryn had already stepped into the aisle.

"Not as long as I feared. We're near the door too. Maybe they've got a map someplace."

The Doctor tightened his tie as he followed Kathryn, who was already standing under an archway that led into another hall. "Come on Doctor! Age getting to you or what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Impatient young creature as always."

"I want to meet these people. Whoever they are, they're good."

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

The Doctor and Kathryn turned to see, for lack of a better description, a small fuzzy man in a lab coat. There seemed to be a light layer of nut-brown hair covering every inch of visible skin, but it didn't look odd on him, somehow.

"Who are you?"

"Jastalie," the man replied pleasantly. He seemed fully unaware of the Doctor's mood. "How was it in there?"

"I'd like to know where this is first."

Jastalie frowned. "The Neuro-science Station, Virtual Reality Wing." The confusion was real. "You mean you've never heard of us?"

"We aren't familiar with the area," Kathryn explained, for once kinder and seeming to be more understanding than the Doctor. "So, no. We don't know what this is."

"Oh dear," Jastalie said. "That complicates things. You'd best come with me."

"Where too?"

"You need to talk to Rema. He's much better at explaining things. Come, come."

Kathryn trotted after the scurrying man, the Doctor slightly behind her. She didn't seem particularly upset. She'd be alright.

Jastalie led the Doctor and Kathryn past a dozen doors before stopping at one. He opened it with a retinal scan and scampered inside.

"Rema! Rema, I need to speak with you."

Another, similarly fuzzy man looked up from a computer screen. He frowned at the Doctor and Kathryn. "Who are they?"

"The newer ones. You know, from the random selection?"

"That came in on the blue box?"

"Yes. It seems they didn't know about the station."

Rema's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh that's a bother." He stood, rubbing his fingers together. "You two really don't know?"

"No, we don't," the Doctor answered tersely. He never liked being kidnapped and put under observation. "What is this place?"

"We build Virtual Realities based on memories," Rema said. "At least our section of the station does. Once you're hooked up to the computer, your mind will create a world based on what you've already lived."

The Doctor frowned. "Why would you have that? Isn't the point of a Virtual Reality to escape the world?"

"Oh, not ours," Jastalie said. "Well, unless you order it that way."

"Order it?" Kathryn asked.

"Yes," Rema said. "People pay for them, you see. Or their doctor will prescribe one for a length of time. Sometimes people want to see what it would have been like if they'd made a different choice, or they want to relive something particular. Others need to work things out, so we send them to that person in their heads. Those are the ones psychiatrists send to us. Those with a terminal illness get to go live out their whole lives in the space of a few months, so they get to see everything happen, children grow up and the like. A few pay because they wanted to say goodbye to relatives. The very, very rich want one of the…more indulgent realities. See, it all works based on the subject's real memories, not our twisted, conscious version, so it's much more realistic. Not quite perfect always, but very close."

"People…pay for that?" the Doctor said, disbelieving.

"It makes sense," Kathryn said. "Closure is a big thing. So is escape. If you can't have them in the real world, at least you can feel like it happened."

"But we didn't sign up for anything," the Doctor said. "You dragged us in here."

"We have a random selector," Jastalie stammered out. "If certain passing ships or citizens down on the planet want out of it, they call ahead and are taken off the list. No minors are chosen, and no one loses much time. We even get volunteers for this! We use them to see how new programs work, or just for generic study; what groups see what, or where in their lives the subjects start, or which characteristics come to life when they have the choice, how they shape their worlds. It's perfectly safe, and we send messages to their homes and work. It's perfectly legal."

The Doctor and Kathryn glanced at each other. This situation was a rarity. The Doctor looked back to the nervous scientists. "Seriously?"

"This was just wrong place wrong time, Doctor," Kathryn said softly.

The two men nodded furiously. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Certainly the two of you noticed that we weren't on any sort of records, had no identification?"

"You did though." Rema and Jastalie glanced at each other and Jastalie started looking through files on a display pad. He found what he wanted and turned it to show Kathryn and the Doctor.

"Dr. John Smith and Kathryn T. Moore, Traveling Showmen, First Class." The Doctor frowned at the picture and gave Kathryn a look of annoyance. "Since when have you had psychic paper?"

"You leave everything lying around Doctor," Kathryn reminded him. "I've had it for a long time." She took the pad from him and handed it back to the scientists. "So did we turn up anything interesting?" Kathryn asked. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. He'd expected her to be upset, as she usually was when people tampered with her without asking first. Instead, Kathryn was almost melancholy.

"Oh, extremely!" Rema sounded relieved now that the questions weren't accusatory. "We've been waiting to use a new computer system we got, much faster, greater memory, everything, but we needed really good minds to test on. Dr. Smith here uses so much more of his brain than most, but you my dear!" He quivered slightly as if from an adrenaline rush. "You are absolutely fascinating."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, your mind went through the new system to find Dr. Smith's consciousness. It was like you just knew all about how the computer worked. Once you found him, you worked him into your story." Rema looked at the Doctor. "You have quite a daughter sir."

"Oh, we aren't—"

"What else?" Kathryn cut the Doctor off. Jastalie jumped in, as energized as Rema.

"It was the world you chose that had us going. We're going to be working on theories for years."

"Theories?"

"About what the world design is based on when the subject is given free reign over the virtual reality," Jastalie explained as if it were obvious. "Emotional ties, time spent in one place, duty, fear, something we hadn't even considered…endless possibilities. But you—" he moved next to Kathryn, showing her read-outs from brain scans. Rema stood on her other side. The Doctor had to use his height to look over their collective shoulders and see as Jastalie talked. "You have three distinct sections of memory, of your mind if you will. Two are equally active; the larger one is the life you based the reality on, while the smaller one is what seems to have pulled you out of it."

"But you see this line?" Rema put in, pointing at one of the three wavy lines that resembled a heart monitor readout. It was shallower than the others. "You have what seems to be a subconscious, third personality; an entirely separate life. This seems to be the section that went on the hunt for your father, and what gave most of the push to get you out."

As if on cue, the two scientists looked at Kathryn, their eyes large with questions. "Tell us; what did you build your world on? What are the separate parts?"

Kathryn sighed. "The large section is only that size because I lived it longest. I sectioned it off to live the life I'm currently in. Couldn't really say what the third one is. Are we free to go?"

The scientists looked put out. "Well, yes, of course…but couldn't you stay?"

"Places to go Rema. Sorry."

"Are you certain?" Jastalie asked plaintively. His expression was almost painfully honest. "We've got so many questions, and both of you are so very intriguing. We haven't had a chance like this before. Neither of you would have to agree to a thing you didn't want to. I'm sure you could even help with the work around here, if you enjoy neurology."

The Doctor noticed how tired Kathryn suddenly looked and cut in with an excuse. "We were on our way to a booking for a show. We really do need to get there."

Rema and Jastalie deflated as one. "Alright then. We'll show you to where your ship is parked."


	11. Chapter 11

The Doctor opened one of the many doors in one of the many hallways on TARDIS. The old girl had nudged at him, sending him there. It was an old soda fountain, with Kathryn sitting at the counter and working on what looked to be her third chocolate malted. She continued staring at the half-empty glass as the Doctor sat on the stool next to her.

"You okay?" he asked, feeling obligated.

She smiled weakly at him. "Yeah, I'm good."

The Doctor knew what that meant, but he felt like he ought to say something more anyway. "I'm sorry about—"

"No, you're not," Kathryn cut him off, smiling without humor as she played with the straw. "You were an out of place, watered down version of yourself, trapped in a world you had no role in. You didn't fight against getting out, and you were only fooled as long as you were because of Genora's determination. You aren't sorry one bit." She said it without malice.

"Were you really like that? As a human?"

"I didn't faint that often, if that's what you mean." The Doctor smiled at the dry remark. "I was older in there, and I didn't wear dress-pants quite that often, and hardly ever flats, but essentially yes. That was her. Imaginative, introverted, always with a story brewing, slow to trust. That's probably what she's actually like in college. I can see Genora doing all that. That was her plan anyway." Kathryn drank some of the malted.

"Ever looked her up?"

"Nah. No point to it. No right to it."

She offered nothing else so the Doctor looked for another question. Usually he left this sort of emotional thing alone, but Kathryn was never this depressed about anything. She was an angry depressed sometimes, but never looked as though she'd had the life drained out of her. Maybe she had.

"And your family? Is that who they were?"

"You mean Genora's family. The O'Conner family." Kathryn seemed to get stuck on the next sentence, but she pushed it out anyway. "They're not my family."

"Right. Them."

"No. Things were off. There wasn't really a river nearby. Geoffrey never went nuts over things I baked or cooked. They never had a house like that. Genora never had a friend named Lula. On the infrequent occasions that she doodled it was abstract shapes. Mrs. O'Conner wasn't a stay-at-home mom. There were always dogs. Mr. O'Conner wore glasses. There was no lemon tree. My friend Buck wasn't there." Kathryn poked at the malted again. "There were changes."

Kathryn sighed and looked at him. "You were right; I changed the world Doctor. I tweaked it, tried to shape it and soften it. Not sure why I took out the pets, but then again I was working on making my current life and Genora's life fit together. But I'm not her. I'm just the Jahra clone that lived as her for a while before finding out the truth of what I am. Genora and Kathryn live separately; TARDIS isn't part of Earth. That's really why I hated you at first, or your copy; Genora would have never gone for this life. Any travel would have been done for the sole sake of her books. She wanted nothing more than to go back to Texas, write books, marry her friend Buck, and maybe have children. That's all."

"You've done fairly well here."

"I had to Doctor; I have no other choice." Kathryn sighed again. "No. She did have one thing right; you're a lonely old man, and Kathryn is just a young girl with nothing more to do than to care for the lonely old man."

"Well." The Doctor made a face. "I didn't think the travel was that bad."

Kathryn smiled, laughed a little. "Yeah. Yeah, the travel is good. Fantastic really. I do like the travel." She swallowed and the smile faded. The Doctor didn't say anything for a minute.

"Did you get your goodbyes at least?"

Kathryn shrugged. "I said them, but even as I did it they didn't mean anything. One thing different about my psychiatric closure? It's not mine to have, and it wasn't real. None of it was. They were useless words to a warped picture of a family that was never mine, which I then destroyed. The O'Conners never heard them, and they never will."

"There had to be something that was real," the Doctor protested, more for Kathryn than for him. "Otherwise you wouldn't have fought so hard."

"Genora fought to keep it. Kathryn knew better."

"Kathryn is a cynic that needs to answer my question."

Kathryn grudgingly nodded. "Mrs. O'Conner really did like to garden, especially the irises. And her hair and smile were correct. Mr. O'Conner's laugh was correct, and he teased Genora knowing full well she'd tease back. That was correct. There was no Lula, but all of Genora's friends were Hispanic. Genora constantly writing was correct; I'd forgotten how good it felt to create and express things that way. Wonder why I stopped." Kathryn smiled, blinking against suddenly moist eyes. "And Geoffrey really did have that absolutely ridiculous grin, the one that showed all his teeth? Never failed to get Genora smiling."

"Were you really that close to him?"

"Yes. We were close. They are close," Kathryn corrected herself. She drank more of the malted. She looked at the Doctor.

"I'm sorry for pulling you in. You were probably on Gallifrey or something equally wonderful for you. You really didn't belong in her world, and I don't know how or why I pulled you in."

The Doctor shrugged carelessly. "Oh, no harm done. Truth is, it was rather interesting seeing what you used to be. Can't say I don't prefer the current you, but it was certainly new."

"Yeah…about some of the stuff I wrote and said?" Kathryn flushed a light purple. "It was an older Genora's interpretation of Kathryn's life. You know, the impossible hero bits and such? We can just…forget those parts."

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Same with that soul-baring conversation by the river."

"What conversation?"

Kathryn smiled lightly.

The Doctor nodded once. "Alright then." He stood. "Anywhere you want to see next?"

"Nowhere special." Kathryn tapped her glass. "I'll just finish this and be out."

The Doctor looked at her gently. "You sure you're alright?"

"Of course I'm alright!" Kathryn exclaimed, her voice a shade too bright. "I'm Kathryn Trouble Moore; I'm always alright."

"Okay."

The Doctor was at the door when his sharp ears caught Kathryn's next words. He was certain she hadn't meant him to hear, but Gallifreian ears were really good.

"Kathryn Trouble Moore," she murmured. "The test-tube grown, people-killing, encyclopedic freak. No emotions. Always alright."

"Hey."

Kathryn looked up at him, surprised the Doctor was still there. He looked at her seriously. "It's Kathryn Moore, Dragonfly Girl. Yeah?"

Kathryn's mouth twitched. "Okay."

"I mean it Kathryn; all that stuff I said in there. It wasn't just to get you out. Well it was, but it was all true."

The smile formed, even if it didn't show teeth. "I'll be with you soon."

Kathryn turned back to the malted as the door shut behind the Doctor. She stared down at the glass, playing with the straw again.

"Genora Alexis O'Conner, Kathryn Trouble Moore, and then a third," Kathryn mused. Her mouth twisted with dark humor. "I wonder who I'm going to be next."

She sat very still, almost as if listening. Finally she spoke one word, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Scorch."

Kathryn's whole body flinched and she shook her head, worrying at her top lip. "Dragonfly on fire…they can't last very long that way can they?" Tipping the glass to get the last bits of the chocolate drink, Kathryn stood, walking for the door. "Eh. I'll worry about it some other day."

The door closed behind her, leaving the faint outline of a hand on the countertop to go with the smell of scorched wood and melted plastic.

* * *

End of "Dreams Of Life".

Next on the list is "Stuff of Legends." Gosh my new one makes more sense. I've been debating the rewrite of "One Shot". If anyone actually reads my stuff (right) and you want to see it remade, or think it should be, send me a note via Private Messaging.


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